


Yours Until My Heart Dies

by LittleLostStar



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged up characters, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hair Pulling, In which things escalate quickly, Porn with Feelings, Porn with minimal Plot, Post-Canon, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, royal affairs, thot katara knows what she wants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostStar/pseuds/LittleLostStar
Summary: He doesn’t know who moves first, only that Katara’s lips are incredibly soft, her mouth warm and open, her touch completely electric on his skin, and Zuko can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes him as they part.It’s perfect. It’s just as perfect as he’d always imagined it would be, and the fact is that he’s imagined it more often than he’d ever be able to admit.~The tension between Zuko and Katara has been building for years. This is how it breaks.





	Yours Until My Heart Dies

**Author's Note:**

> Mkay. So.  
> This began as a short fic for the "royal affairs" prompt for Zutara Month, and then it spun wildly out of control and became the smoldering indulgent smut you see before you. It was also going to be a songfic to Allie X's ["Downtown"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZC9B92tRA0), but, again, _wildly_ out of control. I still recommend you listen to the song while you read, for maximum sexytime mood-setting effect. Second chapter to come soon. 
> 
> Many thanks to [RedStapler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redstapler) for beta-ing!

The first kiss really does just...happen.

Not only does it just happen, but it feels inevitable, as if they’ve been careening towards this moment for months, maybe years. Every royal visit, every playful squabble, every shy sideways glance during a stuffy diplomatic meeting—it’s all been building like a fever, making him hot and lightheaded and dangerously incoherent.

Zuko thought it was just him, that he was alone in spiraling into this very specific kind of insanity. He had resigned himself to suffering in silence, sweating it out, giving over to it even though every part of his mind screamed to fight. Sometimes things just need to run their course, however destructive, and all you can do is hold on and know that someday the fever will break and the storm will calm.

He’s surrendered to this fate, even come to embrace it, channeling his best imitation of his uncle he can muster. And it’s not like she’s on his mind _all_ the time; far from it. Running an entire nation is an absorbing and exhausting task, one that consumes Zuko for days and weeks on end. He rises early, often before the sun, and falls into bed long after the moon has risen high. He has a life, and a busy one.

But then.

It’s the summer solstice; the whole nation is celebrating. The air is warm and scented with fireblossoms, raising spirits and loosening inhibitions. Zuko oversaw the official celebrations earlier in the day, but he excuses himself from the royal party and gives almost all of his staff the night off, and stands with his heart on his throat as he watches Appa swoop in and land. Sokka and Suki leap down first, wrapping Zuko in friendly embraces; Toph nearly crushes him in a bear hug that feels just a hair too close to an attack strategy, but by this point Zuko knows that’s just how she shows affection. Aang and Katara bring up the rear, and Zuko _knows_ he’s imagining a linger in Katara’s touch when they hug, but he lets himself indulge in it anyhow. Just for a second.

He breaks out some of the good wine from the cellars for the occasion and they sit around the fire, telling stories, catching up, laughing until their sides ache. Zuko has never, ever laughed as much as he does with his friends; he didn’t even think it was possible to feel this much joy, and it still feels like a forbidden secret to be this happy. Of course, he feels the old urges whispering to him—that he’s weak, that he’s pathetic, that he’s undeserving. But somehow Katara always manages to stop him before he falls down that hole; she catches his eye, flashes a private smile, changes the subject so smoothly that no one else notices.

 _She’s being kind to you because you’re friends,_ he tells himself. _Nothing more, nothing less. You read too much into it._

Aang overdoes it a bit on the wine, and Zuko and Katara help him to his guest room, giggling all the way as the Avatar issues drunken proclamations to each pillar along the way. It’s not unexpected; he’s still only sixteen, and being an all-powerful bridge between the realms clearly doesn’t include a higher alcohol tolerance as a perk.

“Is he all right?” Zuko asks as Katara tiptoes out of Aang’s room, easing the door closed behind her.

“Yeah, he’ll survive,” Katara grins. “Who knew the Avatar would be a lightweight?”

Zuko snorts. “He is an airbender. He’s lighter than everything.”

It’s such a terrible joke. She laughs anyway.

“Where to now?” Zuko mumbles, and Katara flashes him a smile that makes him weak in the knees.

“It’s your palace,” she replies. “What’s your favourite place to go?”

They begin walking—not back to the party, but in the opposite direction, deeper into the palace. They stroll side by side in silence, weaving through the halls of the palace, until they reach the courtyard pond. The turtle ducklings haven’t hatched yet, but the mating pair are there, splashing together in the moonlit water.

“This,” Zuko explains shyly, “is my favourite place in the entire Fire Nation.”

Katara’s eyes are sparkling. “Thank you for showing it to me,” she murmurs. She reaches out and flicks her fingers, raising a small bubble of water and letting it gently burst and rain down onto the two turtle ducks, who quack their thanks and ruffle their feathers.

Right at that moment, there’s a loud _bang_ as the first round of fireworks goes off. There are artists all over the capital city who have been planning their routines for weeks, and Katara’s face lights up with joy as the sky fills with bright gold sparks that swirl together to form a vibrant dragon before fading away.

“Gorgeous,” Katara breathes, and Zuko thinks _yes_ , unable to even pretend he isn’t looking at her.

“There’s a tradition to kiss someone you love at midnight of the solstice,” he blurts, face getting hot. “That is—I mean. We don’t have to. But...I’m glad you’re here, Katara. I’m glad you’re all here. Thank you for—for coming, and for being my friend. It means…” he swallows. “It means more than I could ever say. So...happy solstice,” he finishes lamely, wondering if he could drown himself in the pond if he really put some effort in. But Katara turns to him and slides her hand into his.

“Happy solstice,” she echoes in a whisper.

The sky fills with bright colours and gorgeous displays, but Zuko’s too engrossed in the way Katara’s skin seems to glow in the light, how she’s lost the youthful roundness in her face in favor of a pair of cheekbones that could cut glass, how her lips twitch upwards in a devilish smirk before smoothing into a warm, proper smile.

It’s the smirk that ultimately undoes him. Zuko feels the fever building again, rising through his throat, forcing out the words: “Katara, I—”

But he doesn’t finish, because Katara reaches out, her fingers dancing along his right cheekbone, tracing the phantom mirror image of his scar. The air between them seems hot, viscous, impossible to breathe.

He doesn’t know who moves first, only that Katara’s lips are incredibly soft, her mouth warm and open, her touch completely electric on his skin, and Zuko can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes him as they part.

It’s perfect. It’s just as perfect as he’d always imagined it would be, and the fact is that he’s imagined it more often than he’d ever be able to admit.

When Zuko opens his eyes he sees Katara watching him, her face unreadable.

“What was that for?” he manages to croak.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I—I’m sorry.”

Zuko swallows the lump in his throat. _I’m not,_ he wants to say, but instead he shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for. We’re drunk. Things happen.”

She bites her lip. “So you won’t—I mean. This was...I’m sorry to put you in this position. I shouldn’t have done anything.”

“Please don’t worry,” Zuko can’t keep the pleading tone out of his voice. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

It’s an extremely big deal, but she’ll never ever know it.

Zuko expects her to shrink from him, for her eyes to flick back to the palace where Aang is sleeping, for the moment to be over. But Katara’s eyes never leave his face.

“You’re a good man, Zuko,” she murmurs. “I’m glad I know you.”

As they make their way back to the rest of the party, Zuko clenches a fist behind his back, nails digging into the skin of his palm. Guilt begins to twist in his gut as they pass Aang’s door, and he vows that he’ll get over this Agni-forsaken crush as soon as humanly possible, even as he desperately tries to memorize the feeling of Katara’s lips on his. Zuko has done enough horrible things in his life; breaking up two of his best friends won’t be added to that list.

But in the meantime, for however many weeks or months or years it will take to get over her, he’s so in love he thinks he might just die.

~

The next time it’s a year later, at a diplomatic meeting to re-establish trade between the fire nation and the Southern Water Tribe. Katara arrives at the capital city alone, and the anxiety that’s been whispering in her ear explodes into a full-on scream: _I kissed him. I kissed him. I kissed him._

It only gets worse when she sees Zuko, because in the interim months he seems to have gotten even more handsome—his hair is long enough to gather in a low knot at the nape of his neck, and he’s clearly been working hard on the training grounds. But it’s his face that arrests Katara, just as it has in the past; his small shy smile, the way he lets his hair grow long to frame his features, the warmth in his eyes. It’s utterly captivating to realize that the scowling, stern predator she once knew is the same man as the kind and confident leader before her.

“Katara,” Zuko says, and there’s a roughness to his voice that makes her clench her thighs together. “You look lovelier every time we meet.” When his lips brush the back of her hand, it sends tingles halfway up her arm, and she briefly wonders if he conjured lightning just to give her a spark.

“Flatterer,” she retorts, her voice much more casual than she feels. “You never used to be one for such pretty words.”

Zuko shrugs, his right eye crinkling up at the corner as he smiles. “I strive to be a truthful ruler in all things,” he replies.

Katara barely gets through the rest of the greeting ceremony, tripping over her words like a schoolgirl, because in her mind all she can think is _I kissed him_. All she can hear is the hitch of breath he took as she pulled away. All she can see is the back-and-forth flick of his eyes as they searched her face.

She’s tried to forget, tried to tell herself that it was just a kiss, fueled by alcohol and warm weather and joyful feelings. It hasn’t worked.

The day is filled with meetings and negotiations, and she’s able to slip into the role she must play, just as he can. There’s a delicious thrill to sit across from him, to see the steely glint in his eye and match it with one of her own. Their game of cat and mouse picks up as effortlessly as it left off all those years ago, only this time there’s no anger, only the visceral pleasure of back-and-forth, of take and give, of anticipating his next move and planning three steps ahead—a tileless game of Pai Sho, with ships and cargo instead of white lotuses and dragons. Zuko had once chased her all over the world, his relentless determination both terrifying and impressive; now, as Katara argues for her side, she imagines their battles of the past reshaped into something new, and can’t keep the smile off her face as they argue animatedly about trade route optimization. Zuko’s grinning too; there’s a playfulness in his voice even as their squabbling intensifies, and Katara can tell he’s having as much fun as she is.

 _Maybe,_ she thinks. _Maybe I can do this._

As Ambassador Katara and Fire Lord Zuko they haggle and strategize, surrounded by aides and assistants, and by the end of the day have drawn up a set of plans that will be minimally frustrating for all parties involved. It’s a resounding success, as far as diplomatic meetings go, and there’s a dinner that night planned to celebrate their partnership. As the sun sinks low in the sky and the dignitaries socialize before dinner, Katara feels the anxiety tightening around her chest—an invisible grip that threatens to snap her like a dry twig. She grabs the first glass of fizzy rosewine that’s offered to her, downing it as quickly as possible, closing her eyes and willing the alcohol to help her relax.

When Katara opens her eyes, she sees Zuko across the room, holding fast to a drink of his own. His gaze meets hers for a heartstopping second, but she swiftly looks away.

_This is a disaster._

The disaster only grows in scope when Katara arrives at the dinner table to find herself seated at the place of honour, at the Fire Lord’s side. The huge table feels excruciatingly tiny as she squeezes in, and Zuko looks over and mouths _hi_ , his right eye moving ever so slightly in what could be a tiny wink.

Katara can’t breathe, but five years of public service have given her a much better pai sho mask than she had at fourteen, so she plasters a smile onto her face and mouths _hi_ back.

Zuko leans over, and Katara can feel her whole body stiffen as his breath tickles her ear. “Would you like some wine?” he murmurs.

“ _Spirits_ , yes,” she replies, too quickly. “Please. A lot of it.”

Zuko chuckles as he fills her glass, and Katara literally feels her toes curl at the sound. “Being around me is that bad, huh?”

Her face gets hot. _Fuck._ “No!” she exclaims, trying to take a dainty sip of wine instead of the massive gulp she wants. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m just...it’s been a long day.”

“Agreed,” he replies, pouring a generous glass of wine for himself. “But it’s over, and now we can catch up properly. That is—if you want to.”

 _Very badly,_ Katara wants to reply, so instead she takes another sip of wine. “That would be nice,” she says softly.

Someone on Zuko’s other side taps his shoulder to get his attention, and when he turns to face them his thigh brushes up against Katara’s, and she squeezes her eyes shut and downs her wine in one undignified gulp, pouring another glass before anyone even notices.

 _I kissed him. I kissed him. I kissed him._ The words echo in her mind, over and over, as steady and thudding as her heartbeat.

It’s all so incredibly wrong, so humiliating, so abhorrent, so hideous—or, at least, it’s supposed to be. Katara should feel like the absolute scum of the earth; she’s dating the _Avatar_ , for spirits’ sake. She’s not supposed to be looking at other men, never mind kiss them. She’s not supposed to fantasize about the low rasp in Zuko’s voice as he said _kiss someone you love_ , about the way his eyes reflected the fireworks, about the intense magnetic tug that pulled at her so strongly that it took all her willpower to keep still—and about the moment when she surrendered, when she made a decision, when she thought _yes, I want this_.

 _I’m sorry,_ she’d said.

But no matter how much Katara has tried to deny it, she isn’t sorry at all.

She tries to think of Aang kissing her goodbye. It’s been two months since they’ve seen each other; he’s been overseeing the restoration of the Western Air Temple, while Katara has been splitting her time between the South Pole and various trade meetings around the world. It’s not easy, being apart for so long. They’re still so young, and their lives only get busier with every passing year. Aang is one of her best friends in the entire world, but sometimes—

“Everything alright?” Zuko asks, startling her so badly that she nearly knocks over her wine.

“Yeah,” Katara manages to reply. “Just...thinking.”

Zuko flashes her a sly grin. “There’s a remedy for that, you know,” he murmurs, jutting his chin towards the wine glass in her hand.

 _I kissed him. I kissed him. I kissed him._ Katara can’t stop looking at his lips.

Dinner is simultaneously too long and over far too quickly, and it seems like no time at all before the plates are being cleared and the assembled nobles are bidding each other farewell, eventually leaving Katara and Zuko standing in the cavernous dining hall, otherwise alone.

Katara feels hot all over, her heart fluttering in her chest as Zuko turns to her.

“So,” he says, trying and failing to lean casually against a chair, “would you, um. I can take you to your quarters, I mean—I can show you the way, I don’t have to—”

“—can we bring some wine?” Katara blurts, desperate to break the tension that’s squeezing the air from her lungs, and she only barely manages to suppress a terrified giggle when she sees the look of relief on Zuko’s face.

“As much as you want,” he replies, picking up their glasses from the table.

Katara tucks one bottle under her arm and grabs two others. “Don’t judge me,” she says sharply, and Zuko throws his head back and laughs.

“Never,” he replies, his voice nearly a growl. “I could use a drink myself.”

 _I kissed him I kissed him I kissed him._ Katara can barely hear Zuko’s voice over the cacophony building inside her head.

There’s a sitting room in her guest quarters, and she nearly falls onto the cushions arranged on the floor, limbs awkward like she’s a teenager all over again. The servants have already stoked the fire, and its warmth only adds to the heat building inside her skin.

Zuko reclines next to her, leaning on one elbow, and fills their cups. Katara feels paralyzed, suddenly self-conscious, and she waits until he begins to drink before she raises her own glass to her lips.

 _This is ridiculous,_ she admonishes herself. _It’s Zuko. We know how to talk to Zuko._

“Hey, can I ask you something?” And speak of the devil.

“Sure,” Katara replies, unable to tear her eyes from his face.

Zuko purses his lips. “So, um,” he stammers. “I—okay. Well. Weird question, but did Sokka dye his hair bright green?”

Katara chokes, barely avoiding spraying wine all over him as she laughs. “Yes,” she finally manages to answer, wiping an errant drip of wine from her chin. “Oh, goodness, I can’t believe you haven’t heard that story yet! Okay. So it all began when Momo fell in love with a shrieking canary at the zoo—”

Zuko’s jaw drops open. “When Momo _what_?”

Katara launches into the story, pausing at all the right moments for maximum dramatic effect, and by the end of it they’re both out of breath from laughing, tipsily leaning towards each other. Katara sighs, content.

“This is nice,” she murmurs drowsily. “It’s nice, being with you. I’ve missed this.”

Zuko’s smile could light up the sky like the sun. “Me too,” he replies, as he reaches out and tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

Katara stops breathing, her whole body tense with the effort to avoid leaning into his touch. She waits for Zuko to pull away, but his hand lingers—one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three. Too long to be an accident. To long to be anything other than a sign.

Katara’s heart is pounding so hard that she swears it has to be audible; she sees Zuko’s gaze slide down to her lips for just a second, but it’s enough, and in that moment it feels like everything grinds to a halt.

They’re frozen in place, leaning against the pillows, so close that Katara can see the tiny spots of black stubble where he missed shaving. She tries to suppress the shudder in her breath as she watches Zuko lean in closer, until they’re separated only by the thinnest possible space. He tilts his forehead to rest against hers.

“I’m sorry, Katara,” he whispers, so close that she can feel the words form against her lips.

“Why?”

Zuko squeezes his eyes shut. “I haven’t been honest with you,” he says, the words tumbling out all in a rush. “I said I’d forget about when you ki—about last year, during the solstice.”

_I kissed him. I kissed him. I kissed him._

“Oh,” Katara exhales shakily. “Yeah.”

“And I haven’t,” Zuko murmurs, so quietly that she can barely hear him over her pulse pounding in her ears. “I know I should. And I don’t want things to change between us. I don’t want to lose you. But...”

 _Please,_ Katara thinks. _Please._ “But?”

Zuko opens his eyes. “But,” he breathes, and then he tilts his head forward.

The tension in Katara’s mind snaps, as sudden as ice cracking beneath her feet. She moans softly as the kiss deepens, shimmying her body closer to his, chasing that warmth—

—and then Zuko pulls away, rolling over onto his back with a groan, covering his face with his hands.

“What?”

Zuko shakes his head. “This is wrong,” he rasps. “We shouldn’t— _I_ shouldn’t, and I can’t—” but he cuts himself off as Katara’s eyes land on the front of his trousers, where there’s amply growing evidence that he _can_ , and very much wants to.

Katara swallows the lump in her throat, and makes a decision.

“Zuko,” she says, hiking up her skirts so she can straddle his waist and receiving a tortured moan in response. She leans down and peels his hands away from his face, first one and then the other. The poor man looks _terrified_.

“Katara—”

“—you’re right,” she murmurs, running her fingers up and down the edge of Zuko’s tunic, feeling him shiver beneath her touch. She leans in, her lips hovering just above his; he cranes his head forward, trying to connect, and she impishly pulls just out of his reach.

“I’m right?” Zuko whispers, his eyes searching her face. Katara sticks out her tongue to wet her lips, running the tip along the edge of his Cupid’s bow and grinning at the desperate short gasping sound he makes as she does. Her fingers wander up, over his shoulders, down his arms, until her hands circle each of his wrists, pinning them by his side. Finally she nods.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “This is wrong.”

She kisses him, harder this time, willing away any trace of hesitation. Zuko freezes, and at first it seems like this might all go terribly wrong, but just as Katara is thinking of pulling away he growls under his breath and wrenches his hands from her grip, sitting up as he does and pulling her in close, his mouth opening under hers. Katara grinds down onto the hardness in his lap and they both gasp at once, crashing back into each other before either can say a word.

Zuko kisses ferociously, but not roughly, his fiery intensity permeating every move he makes. He nibbles at her bottom lip, chuckling low in his throat when Katara moans into the kiss. One of his hands fists into her hair, pulling her head back so he can press tiny kisses to her pulse point.

“ _Fuck_ , this is a bad idea,” Katara gasps, fumbling for Zuko’s hair tie and pulling it loose.

“We can stop,” he whispers, nipping at her earlobe as he does. Katara cups her hands around his face and pulls it back so their eyes meet.

“I never said we should stop,” she replies, feeling a smirk crawl across her lips.

The emotion in Zuko’s eyes is so intense she thinks her heart might break just from looking at him. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but instead just kisses her again, his hands wandering freely now. Katara responds by grinding her hips against him, and his eyes almost roll back in his head.

“That is _very_ dangerous,” he pants.

“Oh?”

He nods. “It makes me want to get you _very_ naked, and—”

Katara arches a brow and pulls her top off over her head, tossing it away somewhere behind her. Zuko looks like he might have a heart attack.

“Oh,” he says. “I—”

“—shh,” Katara grins, pulling at the hem of his tunic. “You think too much.”

Zuko gets the idea and pulls the offending garment off, and Katara wraps her arms around him and buries her head in his neck, relishing the warmth of his bare skin on hers. She might have stayed like that forever, but Zuko takes advantage of the situation and deftly flips her over, covering her body with his, kissing her passionately. Katara is almost delirious with lust, throbbing with the need to be touched, to be worshipped, to be ravished. She can feel that Zuko is equally aroused, his hips rutting in tiny little subconscious movements, his hardness pressing against her and sending waves of pleasure up and down her entire body.

Zuko travels along Katara’s jaw and down her neck, planting kisses in the hollows of her collarbones and every freckle and sunspot he can find. Katara’s breath hitches when his mouth finds her breasts, his tongue flicking tentatively over her nipple before moving down further across her stomach, as one of his hands finds its way under her skirts, his fingers brushing against the skin of her leg. Katara nearly sobs from the desperate need that’s making her heart race, her entire mind focusing on Zuko’s fingertips as they slide up further still, along the skin of her inner thighs. She fumbles for the simple tie at her waist, letting her skirts fall to the floor around them. Zuko pauses briefly to pull her wrappings away; then his tongue presses across the most sensitive part of her, and everything else is utterly forgotten.

“Zuko—” Katara gasps as his ministrations intensify and he slips a finger inside her, pressing up against places she didn’t even realize existed, pulling pleasure from her in waves that build and build with every breath she takes. She can’t even tell him _don’t stop, keep going, please_ ; her voice is gone, and she wouldn’t even know where to find it. But thankfully she doesn’t need to give any encouragement; Zuko finds a rhythm with his hands and mouth that has her gasping, and he keeps going, never slowing his pace, pushing her further, and the pleasure bubbles up and up and up until it finally explodes. Katara arches off the floor, her legs taut and trembling, a desperate cry escaping her lips as her whole body shudders.

“This is—oh _gods_ —” she doesn’t get the chance to say anything else before Zuko climbs back up to kiss her again, the taste of her still on his lips. He’s also discarded his trousers, and Katara mewls as she feels his length slide against the wetness between her legs.

“Let me guess,” Zuko growls softly against her mouth. “This is a bad idea?”

Katara nods, even as she reaches down between them to guide him inside her. “ _Very_ ,” she whispers, fingernails digging into the skin of his back.

Zuko’s breath escapes hot against her neck as he pushes in, and Katara gasps at the sensation. She’s done this before, and even enjoyed it, but it’s never been like _this_ ; there’s no soreness, no discomfort, no gritting her teeth and pushing through until the pleasure began to overtake the pain. Zuko feels incredible, and when he begins to thrust slowly Katara can’t stop the sounds that come out of her mouth. She cants her hips upwards, trying to pull him deeper inside, and in response Zuko pulls her hair again and scrapes his teeth against the side of her jaw, thrusting harder.

 _“Yes_ ,” Katara sobs, because she’s _wanted_ this, she’s let it sit beneath her skin for years and years, she’s denied it for so long and now she can’t for the life of her remember why.

Her other encounters—via her _one_ point of comparison—have been stilted, rigid, strangely distant. Polite, even. But that isn’t how it’s supposed to be; it’s _this,_ pressed into the floor by Zuko’s weight, her breath escaping in short bursts in time with every thrust, her muscles clenching around him, his desperate kisses in between gasping moans.

This may be wrong, but Katara knows she won’t be able to care the way she should. She won’t feel awful tomorrow, and she’ll be guiltier about that than her actual transgressions. Because it’s always been this way; Zuko has always brought out the wildest part of her, given her permission to confront the darkness inside her soul, been her companion on those journeys with no judgement. He’s the one who challenges her, who pushes back, who surprises her at every turn.

“Zuko,” she whispers, and he makes a gutteral sound in return.

“ _Katara,_ ” he nearly sobs out her name, moving faster now. “I’m—”

His hips stutter and jerk, and then finally still. They lie there for a few moments, breathing together, covered in a sheen of sweat.

Eventually Zuko slips out of her, but he doesn’t move, instead leaning down to kiss her softly.

“So,” he murmurs, a shy smile on his face, “that just happened.”

Katara nods. “I don’t regret it,” she replies, reaching out to run her fingertips ever so lightly across his scar.

Zuko closes his eyes, leans into her touch, and then pulls away. “And—and tomorrow?” he asks, without looking at her.

Katara cups his face in her hands and kisses his eyelids—first his left, then his right. “I won’t regret it then, either,” she promises. “And you?”

Zuko’s relieved smile nearly breaks her heart. “Never,” he whispers.

“Good,” she says.

They leave so many things unspoken.

~

The next morning, Zuko rises early, when the rising sun is still painting the sky in brilliant gold. Katara’s delegation is leaving soon, wanting to get back on the road before the sun gets too high. For a moment Zuko wishes she had Appa, whose travel schedule is far more flexible, but Appa doesn’t travel without Aang.

Zuko rolls his shoulders back. _And there’s the rub._

He breathes deep, letting memories of the night before ripple up and down his body like waves breaking on the shore. There’s a curious silence in his mind, and an echoing space in his heart—the places where he should feel intense guilt, overwhelming sorrow, abject humiliation at what he’s done. But he doesn’t, and that makes him feel even worse.  

Aang is one of Zuko’s closest friends. Together they’ve laid the groundwork to heal some of the war’s biggest wounds, and that work will continue. It has to continue, for the good of the entire world. And Aang is with—

“Zuko?”

He starts, turning to see Katara standing tentatively at the doorway.

“Hey,” he tries to sound casual, but his voice leaps and cracks like he’s a teenager all over again.

For a moment they stand still, watching each other, and the silence that stretches between them feels stifling. Zuko can’t even think of what to ask her next— _did you sleep okay? How are you feeling? Are you going to tell Aang everything and deliver the ruin I deserve?_

Katara must see the worry flit across his face, because she crosses the room and takes his hands in hers. Her skin is cool and dry.

“You okay?” she asks softly, and Zuko forces out a weak chuckle.

“I guess,” he replies. “I—no. I don’t think so. I’m—last night was—” Zuko’s voice fails him as Katara cups his left cheek in her hand, her thumb whispering across the edge of his scar.

“I told you,” she says, “I don’t regret it.”

 _Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry._ Zuko swallows. “What about...we’ve got so much work to do together still, and I don’t want things—to change.”

He actually does want things to change, very badly, but not in a way that he can ever ever admit out loud.

Katara’s smile is steady, calming, warm. “So things don’t have to change,” she says, as if it’s that easy, even as Zuko sees anxiety in her eyes.

“I feel like I’ve betrayed the entire world,” he whispers.

“Zuko, listen to me,” Katara murmurs. “Do you remember back in the crystal caverns, beneath Ba Sing Se? Aang wasn’t there, initially. He had gone to see a guru about mastering the Avatar state, and he abandoned that mission because he saw that I was in danger. No, don’t look at me like I’ve just killed your turtle ducks, I’m not telling you this to make you feel worse. I’m telling you to make you feel better.”

“How?”

The glint in Katara’s eye is so wicked, and it makes her so gorgeous. “Because Aang put the fate of the world at risk to go rescue me, even though he knew it was wrong. There was a larger mission at stake, but he did it.”

“And my sister nearly killed him,” Zuko finishes bitterly, but Katara’s smile remains.

“I’m saying that sometimes we act selfishly. Not because we’re bad people, and not because we’re not invested in the long term, but because we’re human.”

Zuko exhales through pursed lips. “I—I like you, Katara,” he says, because he’s a fucking coward. “And I keep thinking I should feel guilty, but...I don’t.”

Katara leans in and kisses him softly. “I like you too,” she says with a wry grin as they part. “Will you remember that?”

 _For the rest of my life,_ Zuko thinks. _It will eat me up inside, but I’ll let it._

“Yes,” he replies.

“Good,” Katara nods. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

He nods, and she squeezes his hand before she finally lets go and leaves him alone again.

Zuko sits on the edge of his bed and buries his head in his hands. This is a disaster; he’s sure that Katara is lying to save face, trying to make him feel better. He hopes against all hope that she even shows up at the next meeting; he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. There’s nothing to do but wait, and worry, and try and fail to forget.

 _Never again,_ Zuko vows. _I won’t put us in that position ever again, no matter how much I want to._

But he’ll never forget the feeling of her, the sounds she made, the burning heat building in his core that threatened to consume them both.

Somehow this was all a lot less complicated when he was trying to kill her.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are much appreciated and help to fuel more smut in the future! Donate now, benefit later! *passes hat*
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://iwritevictuuri.tumblr.com), [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/iwritevictuuri), and [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/littleloststar) if you do that, so come say hi!


End file.
